Aztec Goddess: This is for you, my poor neglected Kimblee! I feel so bad for not starting this sooner! Anyway, this is in Kimblee's POV. And, of course, I don't own nor claim ownership of FMA.

Reminisce

Glass shards darted in all direction, ripping, shredding, tearing through my flesh. It stung – fragments buried themselves into my newly open wounds. I soon lost feeling of my arms, but my face burned due to ammonia vapor. I was only eight years old at that time, but still, that was one pathetic attempt at alchemy.

Ammonia found under the kitchen sink fundamentally contains nitrogen, hydrogen, and oxygen. I came up with the imbecilic idea that the silicon in a glass window can replace the carbon needed to complete my explosive. Needless to say, the results were rather displeasing. I decided I would not leave the house until I got my chemical reactions correct. That took several months.

My mother congratulated me for my success in the field of alchemy by introducing me to Central's Medical Arts Building. Though I must admit meeting mentally impaired people proved to be entertaining at times, I disliked that place. All the doctors there tried too hard to make me feel inferior or corrupt; it was almost enough to make me vomit. The medications they imposed on me left much to be desired as well.

I later discovered that alchemy was not completely at fault. Apparently, both my parents feared I was no longer normal, whatever that was. Reassuring comments from my doctors such as "He's schizophrenic" "No, it's called Grande Hystérie" or my favorite "He's just plain crazy" kept me from leaving.

I just wanted to know what the big deal was. I felt completely normal, and yet medical doctors with seven or more years of training said there was something terribly wrong with me. I wanted to understand what made them think that.

And so as soon as I turned eighteen, when I would no longer need my parent's permission, I asked to undergo psychoanalysis. I also wanted to know why my parents forbade this as long as they could. How bad could it be?

At 4:00 PM exactly on a perfect summer day I entered the office of Central's most successful psychiatrist, Doctor Aduya. That was the one and only time I was not late for a meeting in the Medical Arts Building. In fact, that was also the final time I ever went back to that place.

I made myself comfortable on the couch and started this meeting like any other; with current events. "Things are really boring at my house right now. My dad left some time last week, but he should be coming back soon. And, of course, my mom's acting like none of this is happening. But what's stupid about this is that the people here – not even family members – are making this sound so bad. If we don't care about what's going on, why should they?"

Aduya wrote very little on her notepad and did not reply, so I continued: "Every doctor I met so far is like that. They exaggerate on every little thing about me. They think there's something wrong with me because according to them I'm not normal. What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?" the psychiatrist asked. "You have yet to mention any of your personal thoughts."

I shrugged. "I don't know . . . I feel normal, I guess. I know I'm not like a lot of other patients here. I don't have an excessive fear of anything. I don't see or hear nonexistent things. So . . . I don't see what my problem is."

"Exactly," Aduya replied. "You have quite a profile here, Kimblee. You detonate any little inconvenience or anything to your distaste. On several occasions, you threatened to start detonating humans. In this building alone, you've attempted homicide dozens of times and suicide, twice. You emotionally detach yourself from others, especially your parents. I'm sure you've been lectured countless times on why none of this is normal, but you're here today to find out why you are like this."

"But why is all that a problem?" I asked, still not fully understanding. "I'm well aware of everything I do."

The psychiatrist rubbed her temple and thought for a moment. ". . . Let's start with something simple. What is the oldest memory you can easily recall?"

"When I started alchemy about ten years ago. My first attempt was terrible, but once I got the hang of it, I inked these transmutation circles on the palms of my hands so I don't have to waste time like an idiot whenever I want to use alchemy." I gazed fondly at my nearly perfect circles. "Seriously, though. Who has the patience to draw out different circles with each use of alchemy?"

"Any other memories you would like to mention?"

A second memory suddenly came to mind. "My mom used to be an alchemist too, until my dad convinced her that changing things is wrong. He hates alchemy since he can't do it himself. He yelled at her and beat her, maybe thinking that she was trying to be better than him."

"Was that before or after you became an alchemist?"

I closed my eyes, trying to make a mental timeline, only to realize that my memories are as clear as fog in the night. Many parts were missing, especially background and nearly all color. But since they were all memories, I eventually saw myself in them. ". . . Before, long before." I finally answered. "I may have started alchemy just to spite them. I don't know."

"Do you at least know why you decided on destructive alchemy?"

I smirked and nodded. "That's easy. I do it for the hilarious expressions and the joy of hearing something being destroyed from the inside-out. Inanimate objects, animals – it doesn't matter. But humans – yes, I have done that several times now – seeing those things detonate is simply amazing." I sighed, content with my nice little memories.

Aduya was not as shocked as I hoped she would be. "What makes you think that? That killing others is alright?" she asked.

"Because it makes so much sense. People are replaceable the way they usually are, but if they turn into living bombs and go boom – now that's cherishable."

"Is that so . . ." the psychiatrist mused as she wrote some more on her notepad. "Sounds like an inferiority complex. But the actions you take imply much more. A serious childhood trauma, perhaps. After all, you haven't said much about your past."

"That's because there's not much to say. I've wasted most of my life here and nothing interesting ever happens at the place I live. At least nothing I can remember . . ." Damn it. I left myself wide open.

"Of course you wouldn't remember. If you're really schizophrenic or whatever else your doctors think you are, that makes perfect sense. I'll just have to make you remember. So tell me, exactly what happened between your parents before you started alchemy?"

I started with pointing out the obvious. "They had a lot of fights. My dad was always angry. My mom was becoming afraid. And I . . . I was just there." Where was I at that time? I was as curious as Aduya. "I know I couldn't have been anywhere else . . ." My head hurt from trying to think back too much. I saw nothing, except ripping, shredding, tearing. Like fire? That thought kept on coming back. "Yeah, I guess that's when I first attempted alchemy."

"But you said your parents fighting happened long before that. Or was that a long period of time?"

"No . . . They were fighting because my mom was using alchemy, but she gave in rather quickly. . . Damn, that doesn't add up."

Aduya sighed. "At least we now know what time period to focus on. So, keep on talking."

"I don't know what else to say. I mean, how could there be a huge gap in my life that I can't remember?" Ripping, shredding, tearing came back rhythmically. I saw myself back in my room ten years ago, livid due to my failure. Then my mom came in and told me to forget all this. Something clicked. "No, wait. That day I first attempted alchemy was also when my mom came back."

"From where?" Aduya immediately asked.

"She, she was somewhere else after giving in to my dad. Yeah, it was because she got really depressed, or something." I could not believe I was actually remembering so much. "I was left alone in the house most of the time after that. Because that's when my dad started going to wherever the hell he goes every so often. That's when he practically stopped talking to me, even to this day. We just started hating each other for some reason."

"Did he blame you for his marital problems?"

"No, I don't know." Ripping, tearing, shredding. Like lightning? It was becoming a nuisance. "I'm guessing it was because I became interested in alchemy."

"So your story is: your father mistreated your mother, so you decided to start alchemy just to spite him."

"Yeah, that sounds right."

For some reason, Aduya was not pleased with my response. "I'm sorry Kimblee, but that does not explain your illness. There's more to it, and you know it."

"No I don't!" What the hell did she want from me? She had just put psychoanalysis and herself on my ever-growing hate list.

"Yes you do. Try to remember."

"What the hell do you think I've been trying to do?" I was genuinely pissed. And she just sat there on her chair, writing useless information on her notepad. I jumped off my seat to yell at her face-to-face. "There probably isn't anything to remember!"

"Kimblee, please–"

"Shut up! You're full of crap!" I wrung my hands around her neck to see her face distorted in shock. How pleasant. Then the sound of her body exploding drowned away all my anger. How soothing. All the tension built up from the room melted away along with her existence. Pretty fireworks always work much better than any form of therapy.

I left Central's Medical Arts Building feeling renewed, but there were still some little inconveniences preventing me from completely starting my life over. I had to get rid of them.

Aztec Goddess: So, how was it? Bleh? Meh? Neh? Please, I need to know!